Chapter Two

Letting go of Natalie's shoulders, John took a few steps backwards. For once in his life, he was at a complete loss in terms of thoughts or words. Luckily, after turning away from him, Natalie began to speak.

"When I saw the picture this afternoon, I knew there was something familiar about the picture, but I couldn't place it. Thought maybe I had just been in the alley at some point, never really thought it could be anything more then that." She was pacing now, trying to remain calm, but her words were coming out in a jumbled rush. "But it was that dress… that stupid, tacky dress."

"Roxy bought it at some thrift shop – you can't tell in the picture you got because it's black and white, but it was lime green and pink with sequins. Some sort of child's beauty pageant costume. I had just turned five when she brought it home – she wanted me to wear it for my first day of school, said the pictures would look real nice. I didn't want too… it was hideous. I screamed and cried, threw it at her, then Walter came home. He slapped me around a bit, told me to be grateful I had a mother to buy me nice things. Needless to say I ended up wearing it."

At the mention of her being hit by Walter, John's head shot up. He knew Natalie had lived a hard life, but she never talked about her childhood, and for her to be doing so now, it showed how much this photo was disturbing her.

"As if to punish me, Roxy made me wear that damn thing nearly everyday for a month. Then I never saw it again. I guess now I know why."

John looked down at the picture he held of Natalie. Her red hair was down in a tangled mess around her shoulders, her arms were crossed defiantly across her chest and there wasn't even the slightest hint of a smile on her face. Even at five, she had Natalie's trademark "pissed off" look.

"Natalie, we can't be sure it's you in the picture…" John said once he finally found his voice.

Storming over to his desk, Natalie grabbed the picture of his fathers murder and handed it to him. "It's me John. No matter how bad the quality is, or how dark it was that night, that child standing beside you're father is me." Tears began to fall from Natalie's eyes. "Oh God," she said beginning to sound hysterical. "What if it was me? What if I was the one that shot your father? Oh God," she moaned. Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, Natalie put a hand over her mouth and bolted from the room running toward the nearest woman's washroom.

Not caring who saw or what gossip for started, John ran after her and followed her into the washroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He stood motionless by the door, listening to the sound of Natalie throwing up, mixed with her sobbing. After waiting a few minutes to make sure she was done, John spoke.

"Natalie, please come out."

"No." Natalie cried out. "Just leave, I can't look at you knowing I may have been the one… the one…"

Frustrated, John ran his fingers through his hair and sat down with his back against the stall. "Natalie, you didn't kill my father."

"You don't know that – you weren't there." Natalie said, her tears beginning to subside. "It could have been me…"

"No it couldn't have been." John said forcefully. "First off, I know you. I may not have known you when you were five, but the Natalie I know now would never be the one to shoot someone else – not now and not then. Secondly, forensic evidence proves that my father was shot by someone the same height as him. Even if you were standing on a box, you wouldn't have reached the same height. Third, what's the motive? What motive would you, a five year old, have to shoot a cop? Natalie, it wasn't you. You weren't the person who shot him."

Natalie reminded silent for a few minutes, forcing herself to calm down and taking in everything John was saying. "But, why was I there that night John? Why don't I remember being there?" Natalie drew in a shaky breath and leaned against the cool metal wall of the bathroom stall. "Obviously I saw something."

"I don't know Natalie, but we'll find out." John said softly, still in shock over the events of the last 20 minutes. Never in a million years would he have expected there to be an eye witness to his father's shooting, or that it would end up being Natalie.

Happy that the wall separated them, Natalie questioned his earlier words. "We'll find out?"

Sighing in defeat, John nodded despite the fact she couldn't see him. As much as he hated it, Natalie was involved – at this point even more then he was. She was the only eye witness and as a cop, John knew anything she could offer, anything she could remember would be useful. "You still need those field hours don't you?"